Scourge of Commoragh
by Vengeful Soldier
Summary: Life in the eternal city of Commoragh is one where every day is a battle for survival and killing and torture is as necessary for life as breathing it its inhabitants. A young scourge, eager for a night of fun goes to the coliseum and sees something that she never suspected.


In the dark city of Commoragh, there are many different forms of life and not just those of which the dark eldar are able to create from themselves by means of the darkly skilled haemonculus. There are slaves of many different races present in Commoragh at all times, feeding the endless thirst of the city that dwarfed worlds, but the role of food and patron were not always mutually exclusive. The city was always in a state of political flux, powers-to-be rising and falling almost daily, all the while the truly powerful leaders, the trueborn archons could hold hold power for centuries in their private domains, and for some millennia.

Slaves are both the lifeblood and source of sustenance for the city of the Druchi, or Dark Eldar for those less poetically adept. Everything from quivering beings with a single eye on one long stock and emaciated-looking bodies, to even marines of the Imperium's fabled adeptus astartes in its immense slave pens. One could not walk the streets of Commoragh without seeing beings from a thousand different races, inflicted with a million different kinds of suffering for the pleasure and amusement of their masters. The dark and suffering energies released from creatures under the exquisite care of the haemonculi or the crude implementations of a vat born kept them eternally young and healthy. The dark energies able to sustain them indefinitely, but it only fuelled the eternal hunger of those who lived in the city. If one has the desire and the money, they can buy anything and anyone in the recesses of Commoragh, except loyalty.

Exotic beasts, fantastical creatures, denizens of places better left unseen by mortal eyes, things that were never meant to be, and things that were never thought to have been able to exist. All of this and more was made possible and made real by the real space raids that were commonly conducted out of Commoragh and into any corner or pocket of the galaxy. The risk of these ventures were great and many as they were varied. True death was always a possibility in ventures such as it, but the rewards not only outweighed the risks, but were necessary for their survival as a whole.

Wealth and luxury beyond all measure was available to those who dwelled within the dark confines of the eternal city, but with it came a price. Eternal life was indeed possible, except of course under the most dire of circumstances and gruesome death. For those who could at least maintain even a fragment of their mortal shell, they could be remade innumerable times and never truly die. Or, if they knew the lore well enough, they could even deposit their soul into a vessel willing or not that had been prepared for them in the event of an untimely demise. The possibilities and rewards of living in Commoragh are as endless as they are tempting, but the consequences are no less dire.

To have the wealth and the so sought after luxury was to be constantly the centre of someone's envy, and the focus of their wrath. Blades in the dark were as common as flies on a corpse and trust was as dangerous as standing in front of a raging supernova, each with as little chance of the forces of the universe taking pity on those foolish enough to commit them. While immortality only needed to be grabbed to be held, eternal damnation and suffering was just as eager to grab back at them. The dread god Slannesh, the Prince of Pleasure, She who Thirsts, and a thousand other euphemisms and names all described the dread of all eldar. The seeker of their souls, the architect of their doom. For she is always hungry and always seeking those who think that they have managed to outsmart her and evade her grasp. Always waiting and eager to claim another foolish soul.

In a city where the whims and capricious natures of its denizens decided the fates of all those around them and in turn themselves, only the most ruthless and cunning survive. It is survival of the fittest at its finest, where those best adapted to survive are those willing to go to any means and use anyone to ensure their own lives never cease. It is a place where trust places a blade in your back. Where mercy given is repaid in blood as those you spared seek to gain the upper hand in the eternal city. It is a place where love, empathy, sympathy, and humility are signs of weakness and preyed upon like sharks smelling blood in the water. Yet even a city of cutthroats and killers must have one they answer to, one who they call lord and master, the one that they must bend knee to, lest they feel the dire consequences of thinking to stand.

Abscruael Vect. The man who has ruled the eternal city for six millennium as the undisputed and all powerful overlord of both the city and the realms held slave to its presence. He has ruled Commoragh with an iron fist forged from cunning and tempered in cruelty and acts that are beyond words to describe. His dispassionate cruelty and nearly godly presence inspires fear in those who commit acts that would drive those of the slave races mad on a daily basis. Elaborate schemes spanning centuries and ensnared in his spiderwebs of intrigue spanning millennium. Blades in the night purchased for the price of an entire army are taken and killed before they can even act by blades that cost as much as a city.

For every step his underlings and rivals take, Vect takes a thousand. Nothing escapes his gaze, his eyes and ears are everywhere and in everything, adding to the almost god-like superstition of his power. Rivals of his are not, because they simply do not exist. Those who challenge him die in ways that pain and suffering can not even begin to describe. Tortured to the brink of madness, then brought back only to be pushed over the edge with gleeful deviance. Souls crushed of all hope are reforged, just to be shattered again just to see it all drain from their eyes again. It is said that some of those who have displeased Vect enough are still alive and in Sorrow Fell even yet receiving punishment for daring to stand against him. After six millennium.

Yet for all of the tyrants power and reach, even with his god-like seeming omniscience, he does not know everything that transpires in his domain. Every little plot, every scheme, every grand plan are not known to him, though he is loath to admit it and would do far worse than cut out the tongue of those who dared to say it to his face...or away from it.

In the universe, there are constant plans being carried out. Webs and fates of individuals colliding and interacting, branching off into countless possibilities and futures. Pieces of fate falling into place and then falling into disarray like winds caught in an autumn storm. To try and put generalities on things, to stereotype events or people is just asking to lead to eventual downfall. The river of fate flows fast and it flows strong, sweeping all before it in its tidal pressures and ever marching passage of time. People, lives, events, places, times, even the gods themselves are but flotsam caught in the ever moving river of fate. It cares not for principle or ideologies, nor for causes and justice, just the passage of time and linking of events. Many seek to influence fate and many are successful to some degree, but fate does not care for them or the changes made to it.

There are those, who form a hard rock in the otherwise fluid waters of time. Those who have such a role of importance to play that not even fate itself can shift their purpose. That even it which would write the life and death of a star must bend knee to a single individual in the teeming masses of trillions and see what it wished to do. Finding one who formed a barrier like this in the river of fate was as likely as finding as innocent in Commoragh.

Now innocent is a relative term. It can mean freedom of association of a certain crime or simply a lack of more vicious crimes when compared to one who is drenched in the blood of sentient beings. To be innocent to any degree in Commoragh is to be asking for death in the most gruesome and painful way possible. Those unable to see the plots and self-serving goals of those around them who would use them as pawns will become used as such. Deception and cruelty come as naturally to those in the eternal city as breathing and it is just as vital to sustaining them. Everyone is lies in Commoragh and the best one can expect in a half truth and if the truth is ever told, it is out of fear of their lie being found out by those greater than themselves.

The forms of deceit and depravity come in as many forms as those of Commoragh who change themselves physically. Some are merely for aesthetic purposes, and merely to be pleasing to the eye and the only harm they cause is flamboyant colour or feathers that fitted their bearers fancy. Others include such devious things like poison glands in their fingertips, or a maw full of razor sharp and extending teeth. Even such things like these are trivial modification that can be made by any haemonculi to anyone for the proper payment, in either monies or slaves.

There are some who askew from their natural form altogether and become what their own ideas of beauty gravitate towards. Some become reptilian in nature, forked tongue, scaled hide, and blood just as cold. Some remake themselves into the forms of aquatic animals, building palaces of marine paradise where they can swim and frolic to their hearts content while torturing to fill their heart full yet again. There are others who wish to emulate those creatures of the air and so decide to remake themselves in that form. These are the most common of the ones who remake themselves, and they are simply known by one name. Scourge.

Hollowing out their bones, grafting wings and muscle to their bodies they change themselves into their vision of perfection. Some go farther than others, replacing their graceful features with beaks that can rend and tear flesh. Nearly all replace their legs with taloned feet that can easily grasp and hold perches, just as easily can they rip out a throat. Some forgo their natural skin and cover themselves with feathers. All have wings though, that allow them to slip the surly bonds of earth and truly taste the freedom of the air.

Scourges by and by are mainly warriors, the airborne troops of the various kabals of Commoragh and they delight in the dizzying rush of aerial combat. In the air, they have no equal. In battle, they loop and spin with intricate grace similar to how the wyches move on the ground. To hear the comparison, the wyches would no doubt scoff and cut out the tongue of the accuser, but it is a foolish archon indeed who does not have a troupe of scourges in their ranks.

Like anything and anyone else in Commoragh, the scourges are a resource to be cultivated, exploited, used, and discarded when spent. They serve a purpose in Commoragh, as mobile warriors and sometime messengers. Their loyalty in questionable, like every other denizen of the eternal city, save for of course for the inscrutable incubus. Despite their animalistic appearances, they are very much sentient and very much dark eldar.

They still feed off of the life force of those tortured and those whose suffering sustains them. They still stab their closest friends in the back when it suits them and treat their most dread enemies with the most amiable of attitudes. They are no different than the others of the dark eldar, merely cast in a different form. Some more heinous and terrifying than others, but even those with the appearance of angels can be far worse and than those who prefer the traits of a flying daemon.

Innocence is such a relative thing, as uncommon as mercy and selflessness in the dark city of those who call themselves the true eldar. Those who possess it lose it quickly if they are lucky and those less so wind up just another victim of the murderlust so prevalent in the eternal city. Not to say of course, that they aren't susceptible to it just as easily as for say a stimm-wired wych, but all the same. Mercy just means that there will just be one more blade to your throat in the future, and pity is just something that can be turned and used against it. So it is with the utmost note of curiosity how one of their number could still maintain a shred of what they would call...kindness.

The man ran. He ran in the dark and cramped slave quarters as sentient beings from a dozen races fell from the sky like misbegotten hail. There were screams and cracks and deep booms of stolen and illegal weapons, not of Dark Eldar make of course, but weapons all the same. It seemed to have the opposite effect of deterrence though, instead just bringing much more accurate and lethal weapons fire on them in return, obliterating and killing those around them with reckless abandon.

The things preying on them were creatures of bestial design and visage. They had faces like those of birds. Clawed feet and hands, some with leathery wings like a bat, and others bright feathers like those tropical and exotic avians that Agrel sometimes saw in the slave raids bring in. They cawed and they squawked, or spoke with light lilting cadences in either their own language as they boasted and jested to each other, or in his language as they tormented and taunted them. Agrel had survived a dozen of such raids by the scourges of Commoragh and had learned that the best deterrence was to stay where the shacks were closest together and the collection of wires the heaviest overhead. It was not a perfect system or plan and more than a few had met a grisly fate trying to follow the basic survival plan.

Eventually the Kabal of the bent horn would come out in force and fire a few shots into the air and the Scourges would dissipate like mist caught in the wind. Not happy at being driven from their game, but content with the amusement that they had derived from it. Agrel only had to keep moving from place to place to avoid the sweeping fire from the scourges and hope that they didn't see him, or worse, take an interest in him. It was always bad after a raid, the rounds used were always poisoned and just a minor cut or scratch by one meant an agonizing death.

The collection of slave cages and huts was placed in the valley between two kilometre long towers, less than a kilometre apart from each other. Thousands of slaves were present of a hundred races and even as Agrel ran, he saw the likes of tau and even eldar do the same. The eldar were not the same as their dark kin as he had learned and they feared them as much if not more than Agrel did. They were impossibly graceful and fast, comparing them to even a feline seemed to do them discredit, but the fear he saw on their faces was all too human in nature and easily comparable. Even still, the masters could make even the slave eldar look clumsy and foolish.

Agrel had survived the previous raids by equal parts animal cunning and luck. He moved on primal survival instinct and seemed to have a preternatural sense of when danger was going to be coming for him. He had survived by making snap decision that always played to his favour. This time however, Agrel made a slip.

He rounded a narrow alley in the slave quarter, keeping as close to the shadows as he could and moving through the refuse like he had been born to it. The path he took was supposed to take him down an awning covered street, if it could be called such, and keep him more or less safe from his aerial predators. He realized his mistake when he suddenly found himself out in the open amid a cluster of ruined stalls and slave pens. Adrenaline and fear having blinded him to his immediate surroundings. Before he could rectify his mistake, a dark figure swooped down from the sky with angelic grace and daemonic speed.

Agrel felt the impact and instantly knew that his life was at an end. Instead of being carried farther into the dark skies of Commoragh however, he was crushed down to the ground and felt the cold stone of the ground pull and grip at him, cutting and scraping him. A weight, slight and light was upon his chest, but the weight of it was enough to induce an episode of fear fuelled begging and pleading. Offering things he didn't have and promising things he couldn't deliver, all so that he could continue living.

When no immediate and gruesome death came to him, Agrel opened his tear blurred eyes and looked up at his current master. It was a she, of that there was no doubt and she had her head cocked quizzically to the side as if studying her prey beneath her. She was beautiful in a fashion, her face unaltered by avian tendencies and her arms still more or less human-looking, though to compare any eldar to a human was asking for death. Black, jaw length hair fell loosely to the sides of head in silky strands, with the tip of one of her tapered ears sticking through as her head tilted to one side. Her features were sharp and soft, some would even have said delicate. Eyes that seemed black, that on closer inspection were revealed to be a blue so dark as to seem black on first glance, a deep royal blue. Black feathered wings with purple speckles were furled on her back and over her body she wore charcoal grey armour with ebony highlights.

"What is your name, mon'keigh?" asked the scourge in a lyrical voice that flowed like water over crystal, with an almost imperceptible avian cooing undertone to it.

"A-Agrel, master. This one's unworthy name is Agrel," stammered Agrel

"My name is Lelith Swiftwing. Do you know what I am mon'keigh?"

"Yes mistress," said Agrel mastering his fear and speaking coherently to the scourge. Dark Eldar were inherently capricious and prone to whims of fancy and impulsive behaviour. As a whole, they preferred it when their prey didn't stutter when being addressed. It was still all he could do to stop himself from soiling himself though. If he did that, she would probably just kill him for the smell and daring to try and dirty her armour.

"What am I then?" asked Lelith as if she genuinely wanted an answer and was not just toying with him.

"You are one of the superior beings of Commoragh who have transcended the impediments of the crude base flesh and taken to the skies so all may see your magnificence. You are the pinnacle of perfection and you are of the proud scourges who fly above us so we may marvel at your gifts."

"You flatter me greatly Agrel, and I must say that it was quite pleasing for someone to stroke my pride like that, for alas I am but the lowliest of scourges kept alive by my swiftness of flight and skill of aerial mastery. However, I am afraid that you have answered my question incorrectly and it grieves me deeply that you did."

"Mistress, please have mercy on me! I never meant to offend you, of please have pity on a useless slave I beg you! Oh please, please, don't kill me, please-"

"Enough," said Lelith curtly. "You misunderstand me. If I wanted you dead I simply would have killed you with my talons and gone on my way. Also, my question was more of a...shall we say interpretive nature? Yes, I suppose that that's a good a way as any to say it. You see, despite the circumstances I am actually your saviour," said Lelith with a hint of a smile.

"Mistress?"

"You made the mistake of straying out into the open and not only that but running as fast as you were able. If I had not taken you, some of my more...enthusiastically minded kin would have. In fact, me being here is keeping them away from you. No doubt they think I'm tormenting you or torturing you in some way."

"I...I don't understand mistress, what do you wish of me?"asked Agrel unable to comprehend what the scourge was saying to him. It had to be a trick, all of the masters who had said things like this before had done it only to give him hope so they could take it away and laugh at his despair. They used whips and barbs and blades and rods that brought only agony and pain. Then used words to heal the wounds of the mind so that they could be ripped open again.

"Truly? Nothing. I participate in these excursions, but I take no joy in them. I guess that you could call me an anomaly of sorts," said Lelith with a smile. "But don't actually call me that or else I would have to kill you. Appearances to maintain and knives to keep out of my back kind of thing you understand." A look of contemplation creased her delicate features momentarily. "Huh, it's kind of humorous when you think about it. I can only have an unguarded and easy conversation with someone when they're not of my race and completely terrified of me. Usually that's the other way around," Lelith cast her eyes up into the sky to seek out her kin swirling and diving overhead. Commoraghs cold, captive sun cast a cool light over everything and left the sky a shimmering silver.

"A word of advice mon'keigh, stay still when we come. Find a hole, get in it, and put something over top of it, preferably in a shelter. We see you from up there as easily as I see you here now and when you move its like a beacon to us. It was smart staying in close spaces, but if any of us had truly wanted we could still have gotten you, just that there was easier game to be had." Agrel felt the crushing weight of realization that he had never had power to determine his own fate and the despair that came with it. With the despair though, came desperate hope that his current mistress was as kind as she claimed to be. That she would not cause him pain with rods and blades, that if he served her well she would only give him backhand blows for any imperfection in his service.

"Mistress, you are most gracious and benevolent. The stars themselves must weep at your beauty and merciful actions. All you meet must bow before your majesty and be humbled by your good grace." The compliments and grovelling came second nature to Agrel, wishing only to please his different masters and avoid their wrath.

"You know the flattery is really nice actually, I should do this more often. You wouldn't mind being my little pet that yipped compliments to me even as I threw you to Ur-ghul's to prove your devotion would you?" Agrel quailed at the suggestion and because of the smile on Lelith's face. "That...was a joke mon'keigh," said Lelith blandly. Her words did little to quell the terrified quivering of the slave below her.

"Ugh, sometimes I forget that I'm talking to a stupid mon'keigh," muttered Lelith to herself shaking her head. "Sometimes I'm just too nice to these things. Just be ready to run when I take flight. Understand? Mon'keigh?"

"Yes mistress, your eternally faithful servant will do as you bid it," mewled out Agrel.

"Good," said Lelith curtly. "You know, I lied to you mon'keigh."

"Mistress?" asked Agrel fearfully. Lelith leaned in close to his face with and whispered.

"I actually do enjoy these hunts, just a little though."

With a sound like a sail catching and snapping in the breeze, Lelith unfurled her wings and thrust herself into the air, powerful wings taking her higher with every thrust. Soon she was once again lost within the swirling mass of diving scourge, but Agrel wasn't foolish enough to watch her retreat back into the sky. As soon as she was off of him, he was off once again, bounding through the narrow streets and looking for a hole to curl up in and hide. Whatever oddity that scourge was, Agrel didn't trust that she hadn't played a trick on him or simply marked him for death later. That still didn't stop him from following her advice though. He hid in a hole inside of a slave pen with a piece of scrap to cover the top. He stayed their until the kabalites of the Bent Horn arrived and drove off the scourge who cawed an sent insults at them even as they flew away, wary for any reaver gangs that would harass them as they retreated.

Agrel quickly left his hiding spot and went back to where he was supposed too, only receiving a single dispassionate hit from an agony whip that set his nerves ablaze. Needless to say, he was a very lucky slave.

The Kabal of the Lonely Feather, was a kabal made up entirely of scourges who had made their eyrie in a kilometres tall tower that they shared with a half dozen other similar scourge kabals throughout their hollowed out tower. There were still some floors that one could not fly through every few hundred meters up the tower that were used as places both to conduct business and separate the different Kabals. This prevented anyone from getting the idea that they could swoop down in the middle of the night and murder at will, or drop down explosives or toxins, or any number of other nasty things. The Lonely Feather Kabal occupied the area closest to the floor and controlled a total of two dividing floors, giving them 400 metres of their shared home and a great deal of territory. The most powerful Kabal however, occupied the uppermost part of the tower and controlled an entire kilometre and five dividing floors.

The homes of the scourges were little lips that jutted from the walls of the tower and were enclosed on the top and shielded by physical or technological means at the front to dissuade fellow scourges from sating their murderlust on them and to protect themselves. For the most part, slaves brought them their food up a winding stone staircase bereft of any guardrail and vulnerable to the passing violent whims of any scourges who happened to be flying by. Needless to say, it was not uncommon for a scourge to have to go and get their own meals, because they never reached their intended destination. No one disturbed the Archon's meals though, not if they wanted to keep living that is.

Every scourge owned their fair share of slaves, but none more so than the Archon and those who were his officers and subordinates. Next in slave ownership were the trueborn who had become scourges and were not in a true position of leadership. After them came the rest or half-born or the ones who had been grown in the vats. There were not very many of them, indeed their presence was anomalous and to have one gather enough money to afford the procedure to turn themselves into scourges was a rarity onto themselves. Most of the half-born were just used for slave labour or served as the foot soldiers of the kabals. Normally only ever rising as high as syrabite, but as with anything in the dark city, if one had the will and the cunning, they could achieve anything. Social status also determined how high up in the tower that one lived. Archon and trueborn at the top, and everyone else at the bottom. Lelith's dwelling was twenty metres off of the floor. The ground floor.

She was a trueborn, but she lacked the one thing that all Dark Eldar had in excess. Ambition. She was content with her life and barely more than a child at 40 cycles old. She spent her days lazing about, reading, flying around the tower and racing the other scourges, or just going to different clubs and pleasure parlours around Commoragh. She still enjoyed childish games and didn't spend any of her time scheming at all. Occasionally she would have to participate in a raid or kabal war, and though she was faster and better at fighting than any of the slave races like all dark eldar were, she was near the bottom in terms of martial prowess amongst the other scourges. Her temper was near nonexistent and she avoided conflict like the plague, which while denying her advancement also kept blades away from her throat. She was useless in intrigue and her heart wasn't hard enough to simply kill someone she knew to gain a slight edge. Despite all of her shortcomings, there was still one thing that kept her from being killed or disposed of by the kabal. She was fast.

She was the fastest flyer in the whole of the kabal and the faster than any other scourge she had ever met or heard of. She could also out fly any other scourge, practically doing circuits around them as they struggled to catch her. This made her invaluable as the kabal's messenger and as a show of pride that the Kabal of the Lonely Feather had the fastest scourge in all of Commoragh. She was also the most agile, able to switch direction on a whim with barely a flick of her wings. The other scourges were jealous of her for this and made a point of beating her soundly in both sparring and target practice, out shooting her and deflecting her venom spear (unpoisoned for sparring of course) and made her limbs and body smart with their blunted blows. They swung much harder than necessary, as if trying to crack her hollowed out bones and take away her title. Even as an invaluable messenger, she was by no means valuable to the kabal and she knew it, but was useful enough to keep around. Even if around was at the bottom of the tower.

Lelith was in her own personal domicile, looking through her one-way roof at the tower above her and reclining in a large cushion chair, her wings splayed out comfortably to the sides. She had her shard carbine on the low table next to her and her venom spear was hanging on the wall, along with a plethora of other weapons and blades. She had no lover to share her home, and she was far, far too young to have children so she usually liked to spend time after a raid or hunt relaxing in her home and feeling the comfortable burn of exertion work its way out of her body and wings. Letting a comfortable drowsiness take over and maybe nap a while.

Lelith owned only one slave, and just a mon'keigh one at that. She didn't have the prestige to own another eldar as a slave, nor did she have the money to own a multitude of slaves and if she was perfectly honest, she didn't want an army of slaves. Too much work to look after them all. She had gone through eight slaves in just two decades since her mother had kicked her out to fend for herself. As a young scourge. It was kind of funny in a way, all scourges had to have their wings surgically implanted and bodies altered, but Lelith had always had her wings and taloned feet as far back as she could remember, even as a barely aware infant. It was because that she was so low in the pecking order that she lost so many slaves, despite her best efforts to keep them alive. Even though she only lived 20 metres from the floor, it was still enough for her slave to crack their skull open if they weren't caught, and make quite a spectacular mess. Which reminded her that she needed to remember not to fall asleep, because she was hard to wake up and her food was coming. If she didn't wake up, her slave might be pushed off the ledge outside her home and be killed, as well as her not getting her supper.

Lelith didn't have to wait long before she heard a timid knock from the front of her small domicile and she looked out her one-way energy door and saw that her meal had arrived. She had a physical admantanium door that she could shut, but she preferred to be able to see what was happening outside. She really hated feeling like she was in a box with no way out, hence why she had spent the extra money to get a one-way see through roof.

Putting a splinter pistol in the belt of her loose fitting robe, she furled her wings snug against her back and made her way to the front of her home, her taloned feet clicking on the stone floor with every step she took and deactivated the energy door with the push of a button. Her slave seemed startled by Lelith's sudden materialization and held her tray tightly in both hands as if fearful to drop it and ruin any of the food. She didn't look at Lelith, staring firmly at the floor between her feet, not daring to meet her gaze for fear of insulting Lelith and making her meet an untimely end. She had only belonged to Lelith for about a lunar cycle and still seemed to believe that the beatings and torture that she had received before was only being put off till a more convenient time, and she feared accelerating the time when that would come about.

It was true that many, if not all other dark eldar tortured their slaves to extract the dark energy needed to sustain themselves and indeed it was often necessary, but Lelith had not the need to do that. She was unique in the way that she had a spirit stone that protected her soul from the leeching effects of Slannesh. Another gift from her distant mother no doubt and not at all unwelcome, because of the protection that it gave. Not to mention that she was still far too young to have to consume energy to restore her youthful form. Not to say that she didn't partake from time to time, but she did it far less often than other dark eldar and never to her own slave. Well, at least not usually. There was just something oddly...filling about feeding on dark energy, almost orgasmic in nature and it was delicious, but if she did it too often she got bad migraines. Kind of like eating too much very sweet candy. Lelith's slave, as with many slaves on Commoragh who wanted to be even worth a smidgeon knew how to speak what was generally considered as common amongst all eldar.

"Well, do you have my meal?" asked Lelith groggily, eager to eat and then sleep.

"Yes mistress I have it right here," said the slave holding up Lelith's evening meal. There was something odd about seeing mon'keigh move. It was jerky and uncoordinated, like someone was pulling on strings connected to their arms to make them dance around and move with exaggerated movements like puppets. Something about the image her thoughts gave her in her head of a mon'keigh being moved like a puppet amused Lelith and she laughed. The slave though seemed to think that this was dangerous and she cowered before Lelith, holding the tray as if it would protect her.

"Put the food inside on the table mon'keigh."

"Y-yes mistress," said the slave hurrying to obey. She moved with the same jerky movements, but shook more causing another peal of almost cooing laughter to erupt from Lelith. In her haste to put the food on the table, the slave tripped on some trophies that Lelith had left lying around, namely shiny things. The food flew from the tray spectacularly and it went far. The Qeltin soup that Lelith was so fond of soon covered a good portion of her floor and furniture, while the food and pastries did a find job of mucking up her plush chair. Lelith stopped laughing.

Lelith grunted in frustration and quickly strode toward the mon'keigh who was frantically trying to clean the mess.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please forgive me mistress, please forgive!" The slave stared at Lelith with terror filled eyes and seemed to expect some kind of dire punishment in return for her failure, which most dark eldar would have indeed dealt out. Her brown hair fell lankly about her head and her too small of eyes were nearly popping out of their sockets.

"You've ruined my supper," said Lelith with a sigh and her slave whimpered. "Now what am I going to eat?" Her slave began to shake like she had been infected with some kind of poison. It was not uncommon to eat a mon'keigh, actually somewhat of a regular occurrence amongst scourges, though Lelith had never partaken of that specific delicacy. A loud THUNK, startled Lelith and caused the slave to cry out. Lelith saw crimson red spreading across the roof of her home from a slave dropped from higher up as a prank.

"Again? This is the third time this week," complained Lelith to herself. "I should start making Scythos pay for the damned cleaning, see if he still thinks it's funny then."

"Mistress I'm sorry," said her slave again, this time more desperately.

"Yes yes, you've already said that," said Lelith annoyed.

"I'll do better next time, I swear it, just give me another chance I beg you."

"You better, or else I'm going to starve with you trying to bring me my meals. Well what are you waiting for? Clean up the mess and get me something else to eat," snapped Lelith sitting down in a different plush chair and activating her energy door again.

Her slave just stared at her in stupefaction, as if unable to believe that she had gotten off so easily and wasn't going to be punished or tortured.

"Well?" demanded Lelith.

"Yes Mistress," said the slave quickly and began hurriedly cleaning up the mess. She left quickly afterwards and almost just as quickly brought Lelith her new food. She set it down carefully, well at least as carefully as her jerky movements would allow and then quickly left after Lelith bid her leave.

Lelith poured a bluish liquid into her soup and when it didn't react horribly or change colour, she was satisfied that it wasn't poisoned and began to eat earnestly. Lelith was not the most refined of eaters and when she got to her pastries, it seemed as if she was trying to determine if she could force the entire treat into her mouth in one go.

An unexpected knock made Lelith's head twitch in a birdlike fashion towards the energy door. On the other side was the wych Jazene, a pair of lethal looking curving blades on her hips and her red hair held up with a pin that appeared to be made from white bone. She waved coyly through the door even though she couldn't see Lelith through the energy field.

Lelith was startled for a moment until she remembered that she had promised Jazene that she would go to the gladiator pits with her tonight. She had planned on just meeting Jazene there, but apparently the wych had other designs on that. Lelith quickly wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve and deactivated the door.

"I thought that we were going to meet at the pits," said Lelith.

"Well we were," said Jazene moving around Lelith's home with quick, light steps, inspecting everything she came across with almost rude curiosity, "But then I remembered that you're always late and only ever leave at the last minute."

"That's because I can fly," said Lelith testily.

"Yet you're always late," chimed back Jazene picking up one of Lelith's trophies. "Why do you collect this junk anyways? It's just scrap."

"Well I like it," said Lelith making a grab for her trophy. Jazene simply ducked and twirled around Lelith, stick holding the shiny coppery thing in her hands. She moved with such easy grace that it made Lelith look like a mon'keigh by comparison.

"Do you want it back?" asked the wych holding up the shiny piece of metal.

"Yes I do," said Lelith, her annoyance easily perceptible in her voice. She flexed her wings almost subconsciously as if preparing for a fight.

"Oh, I think I've made her mad," said Jazene chuckling. "What happens if I take another one?" asked Jazene grabbing up another of Lelith's trophies and giggled to herself as she saw Lelith's jaw tighten and cheeks flush in anger. Lelith really did like her trophies. "I wonder what would happen if I bent one?" asked Jazene putting a thin and shiny metal disk between her hands and pulling lightly at the sides. Jazene bent nearly double over as Lelith lunged at her and watched as the scourge sailed over top of her, murder in her eyes.

"Give it back!" barked Lelith catching her footing as her talons assailed her forward momentum on the stone floor and she grabbed at Jazene again. Just as she was about to grab the wych, she planted her hand on the top of Lelith's head and nimbly cartwheeled over top of her, giving Lelith a little shove so she stumbled forwards. Jazene practically danced around the room, laughing as she picked up more of Lelith's trophies and began to juggle them.

"You bitch!" raged Lelith unfurling her wings and thrusting herself forwards with incredible speed in the confined area. Jazene stayed juggling Lelith's trophies until the last possible moment, then threw them all up in the air and when Lelith's eyes followed her priceless junk, Jazene struck.

Scourges are already incredibly light on account of their hollow bones and though while tall as all dark eldar are, so even though she was well over six feet, Lelith was still on the smallish side. So it was a simple matter for Jazene to grab the front of Lelith's robe as she passed and pull her down and forwards so she fell heavily on her back and wings and slid to the wall where she impacted with a thud.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, let go of my wrists," complained Lelith as Jazene held her hands above her head in a steely grip, pinning her to the floor and hard enough so that her wings couldn't move.

"Are you going to get ready and come to the gladiator pits right now?"

"Yes," said Lelith struggling to get free.

"Are you going to be late?"

"No."

"Are you going to fall asleep once I leave?"

"No," said Lelith a little stung at the accusation. It had only happened maybe, and this was being generous, four or five times.

"Are you going to be distracted by shiny things?" taunted Jazene.

"...no."

"What was with that pause?"

"What pause?" asked Lelith innocently.

"Are you going to be distracted by shiny things?" asked Jezane almost disbelieving.

"Well...it depends how shiny they are," offered Lelith with a hint of embarrassment.

"You're such a birdbrain," said Jezane mocking Lelith with an imitative birdlike cooing. Only for actual cooing and a mocking expression to come back from Lelith. Eyes comically wide, lips jutting out, and head shaking from side to side.

"Such a child," said Jezane springing to her feet quickly.

"Takes one to know one!" shot back Lelith hotly.

"You have cream on your nose," said Jezane simply. She sighed and shook her head as Lelith stuck out her tongue and attempted to get it off that way.

"Why do I spend time with you again?"

"I saved you life," answered Lelith finally getting the cream.

"Don't remind me."

"Why?"

"Do you really not know?" asked Jezane surprised.

"No," said Lelith without sarcasm or mockery. "I saw that you needed help so I came and carried you out of an unfavourable situation. Literally carried you actually. You've watched my back and I've watched yours since then and it's now a bit of a friendship. So all in all I don't really see anything bad with it. I'm actually a little grateful that it happened, admitted Lelith, embarrassed to say her true feelings."

"That's what I love about you," said Jezane moving quickly to Lelith's side and rubbing her ebony hair quickly so that it ruffled and she let out an annoyed squawk. "Just so sickeningly innocent. I bet you couldn't even hold a grudge if you tried."

"Could too!"

"Are you sure that you're trueborn?"

"Yeah," said Lelith brushing off Jezane's hand.

"Well get dressed, because you've got five minutes."

"But the fights don't even start for another two hours."

"True, but I want to have a little fun before we go to the games."

"What kind of fun?" asked Lelith suspiciously. Jezane just smiled by way of response.

In the perpetual gloom of Commoragh, there is half light and shadows everywhere, but on the very uppermost levels. There are countless small kabals and gangs all fighting for control and dominance; each trying to stake their claim in the eternal city, each hoping to one day elevate themselves into high Commoragh. Not a day goes by that some street doesn't run red with blood or for raging turf wars to tear sections of the city apart with an orgy of bloodshed and violence.

These are just the dregs of Commoragh, a city spanning the size of a planet and with multiple realms slaved to its dominance and all of them slaved to the will of the supreme overlord himself, Vect. From his palace of Sorrow Fell, he sits in his impenetrable chambers surrounded by legions of followers and vast arrays of defensive weapons. He controls the ancient failsafes of Commoragh and he alone controls the ever shifting fate of the eternal city.

Abrcruael Vect holds the lives of every resident of the eternal city in his hands and cares for not a single one of them but his own. Only matters pertaining to his own power and control interests him, or events that threatened the state of the dark city. Thousands of rivals had risen against Vect over the millennia and each and every one of them had fallen to the supreme overlord. His rule was steeped in blood and not a drop of it was his own. He was the most cunning man in all of Commoragh and arguably the most cruel, though that title no doubt fell to the haemonculi or some other twisted individual.

With one such as Vect only concerned with matters pertaining to him and his city as a whole and the only life that mattered in his black heart his own, he cared not for a few lost slaves. In fact, he had the tongue of the one who had complained before him cut out, then had the man flayed for daring to bring such a matter of insignificance to his attention. Such a fool do even think that the overlord of the dark city would even care.

The slave cried out as it was hit, quickly swelling to such disproportionate levels as to render its sex indistinguishable, before bursting like a rotten fruit on a hot day. Gore and pieces of entrails spattered the slave pens around it and the slaves too unfortunate to be next to it. A rather unfortunate slave was killed outright as a piece of bone lodged in his skull, while several others were wounded by fragments of bone.

"Two kills, one shot!" crowed Lelith triumphantly, hefting her shard carbine and rising from her crouch, once more wearing her charcoal grey armour. They were on top of a low roof of a building made of the same dark metal that seemed to be the bedrock of Commoragh. Jezane's idea of fun was taking potshots at slaves and seeing who could kill the most in either trick shots or made a particularly difficult kill. Lelith had to admit though, that it was rather fun. Killing slaves equated to vandalism on Commoragh, and while the owner may get angry, as long as you didn't kill a favoured slave or Khaine forbid another Dark Eldar, you could just get off after paying a fine. Or getting tortured. That was one annoying thing about the eternal city, no consistency.

"Nice shot, but you're using a carbine which gives a bit of an advantage wouldn't you say?"

"Oh come on Jezane, you're just sore because your losing," tweeted Lelith happily.

"We'll see about that," said Jezane pulling out a throwing knife.

"I'm not going down there to pick those up after we finish," warned Lelith. "If you throw that it's on you to get it."

"Just watch," murmured Jezane taking aim. "With a movement that was only visible because of her enhanced eyes, Lelith watched Jezane's arm snap forward like a whip and the knife flew out like a round from her shard carbine. It struck a slave and it fell with a cry, clutching at the blade in its shoulder.

"Great throw, you even managed to hit it. Too bad it's not dead," mocked Lelith, pleased that for once she was winning. "Want to try again?"

"It's not done yet," said Jezane, her eyes never having left the slave with the blade it its back. As another slave attempted to pull out the blade, and as it did so the knife exploded in retina searing plasmic fire and completely obliterated both slaves and another half dozen running past them, burning them badly and searing the pens around them. The screams intensified after that, with slaves running more frantically than before, looking for whoever, or whatever had done that. None thinking that the wych or the scourge had the firepower to do anything like that.

"Aghhh," groaned Lelith, her elation leaving her like air from an open balloon. "That's cheating and you know it." She looked at her shard carbine as if disappointed with it and huffed.

"Never said that I couldn't use it," retorted Jezane throwing another. She laughed cruelly as the female slave it struck tried to pull it out, completely obliterating the area around it. "They don't let me use these in the arena, but they're just so much fun to use. They have a plasma charge inside of them that activates when they sink into flesh and go off when someone tries to remove it. You wouldn't believe how cheap they are either."

Lelith responded by shooting a barrage of poisoned splinter rounds into a group of running slaves and watched as they bubbled up before exploding. Eldar, tau, mon'keigh, or any other manner of creature, they all died the same. It was almost light watching coloured fireworks go off. They continued on this way, until angry shouting made itself heard and kabalite warriors dressed in turquoise and violet descended on the slave pits. They hadn't seen Lelith of Jezane yet, but the moment they did, an unholy amount of splinter fire was going to come their way and Lelith had no interest in dying just for having a little fun.

The slaves parted like water before rocks as the kabalites went through them, those too slow to get out of the way soon finding that the kabalites had no more qualms about killing or beating them than their unseen tormentors.

"Well fun's over I guess," lamented Jezane, throwing the last of her knives into a slave at random. She then looped her arms around Lelith's neck and jumped up so she was cradled in the scourge's arms as Lelith unfurled her wings.

"Thank you for choosing Swiftwing as you premiere flying partner. Please keep all hands and legs away from the wings or I will be forced to drop you and laugh when you spatter on the ground. Have a pleasant flight and enjoy the inflight movie."

"Birdbrain," muttered Jezane as Lelith took flight with a single sweep of her powerful wings, quickly rising above the splinter fire from below, twisting as she climbed. They flew up high, for a short time, risking reaver gangs and hellions, but staying out of range of any return fire from whatever minor kabal they had just managed to piss off. They wouldn't be too angry, hopefully, and if anything would just write it off to someone being an ass or juvenile.

Eventually though when they neared the coliseum, Lelith landed on the ground, in part because Jezane would never be seen being carried anywhere, and because Lelith's arms and shoulders were beginning to burn from carrying her.

Lelith touched down gently and Jezane dismounted gracefully with a back flip. There were only a few dark eldar here with barely two slaves for each; that being the reason that Lelith picked it, and they too seemed to be heading to the same coliseum that they were.

"I think you're getting slower birdie," said Jezane stretching.

"No, you're just getting heavier-Ow!" said Lelith rubbing at her head after Jezane cuffed her. She cooed lowly in her throat and glared at Jezane.

"Never, call me fat again. Get it?" the murderlust and anger in Jezane's eyes evaporated Lelith's and she felt it replaced swiftly by fear. The cold icy tendrils digging into her chest and wrapping themselves around her wings. She joked around a lot with Jezane, but sometimes she forgot that not everyone was as forgiving as she was.

"Okay, I'm sorry," said Lelith holding up her hands in a placating and warding gesture. Jezane pulled out one of her wickedly curved blades and it glittered dangerously in the light. The shine on the knife didn't enrapture Lelith like other shiny things did, nor did it fill her with giddy happiness, but it enraptured her attention all the same. "Sorry, I said I was sorry," said Lelith desperately.

With impossibly quick grace, Jezane was in front of Lelith, uncomfortably close and the cold mono-edged blade a hairsbreadth away from her throat. A terrified avian noise made its way out of Lelith's throat unintentionally as she stared into the two unnaturally bright blue eyes of Jezane, no doubt the product of care by a haemonculi. There was no mirth in her eyes, no hint of joking or even a playful attitude. In that moment, the icy dread of fear spread to every part of Lelith's body and the blood drained from her face. Jezane burst out laughing.

"You should have seen your face!" said Jezane doubling over with laughter, but her mirth never touching her eyes. Lelith forced herself to laugh nervously too, but she felt more like crying or finding someplace dark and secure to hide with a loaded shard carbine in her hands. It was times like this that really put in perspective for Lelith how easily and for what obscure reasons those she considered friends would kill her. Though she would forget the lesson in due time, only to come too close to it at some later point in time. "Come on or else we're going to be late," called Jezane over her shoulder as she began hurrying towards the distant cheers of the crowd, sheathing her blades.

"Right...lead the way," said Lelith after a moments hesitation, following Jezane even with her heart hammering in her ears and her wings still trembling. She quickly stilled them though and made herself walk with confidence and contempt for those around her, even if on the inside she was still shaken. To show weakness in Commoragh was like lighting off a beacon to anyone who wanted a quick Commor, or a chance to sake their murderlust. So with contempt as her shield and arrogance her weapon, Lelith went to one of the many gladiatorial coliseums spread around Commoragh.

The coliseum was an immense structure even within the confines of the eternal city where towers as black as obsidian and tall and broad as mountains were a common sight. The coliseum and stones leading up to it were a deep blue with lighter shades of blue coloured stones put into the ground to make different patterns, the most notable of which was a large double curved sword with twin drops of blood on either side of it. There were stalls on the outside of the coliseum hawking everything from food to slaves. A true Dark Eldar would never stoop so low as to do something like work a shop stall and every venue was manned by either a half-born or some other type of slave. Never a mon'keigh though, because no self respecting Dark Eldar would ever buy something from the likes of them, they were only good for hard labour and extracting dark energy from. Or grovelling at their masters feet. What unnerved Lelith just a little though was the fact that a poisoner's stall was right next to that of one selling food. Killing was forbidden on the blue stones outside the coliseum and only permitted in the arena's within. Wyches patrolling in small groups with kabalite warriors behind to provide a little extra muscle, not that the wyches really needed it though. Still, even with all of the security present, Lelith wasn't all to convinced that someone was never killed here, or poisoned to die later on the blue stones.

One slave bound with black iron chains and collar was carefully measuring narcotics to sell and cutting them. Eternally cutting and weighing until a patron professed interest in purchasing one of the many narcotics it had in bags or pouches scattered behind the counter of its stall. The slave was ritually scarred to mark it as property of a kabal. Lelith considered buying something fun, but with being so far from the rest of her own kabal and seeing some Hellions around gave her pause. Hellions hated scourges more than anything for their wealth and beauty, and would never pass up a chance to try and give a scourge a true death. Lelith saw the hellions eyeing her coldly, no doubt thinking of some very unpleasant and gruesome end for her and Lelith made a low sound of threat in her throat in reply.

Lelith watched the Hellions until both her and Jezane were well past them. Walking in Commoragh is an experience all of its own. People will kill you for the joy of it, but they won't bump into you when you're walking and they'll respect your personal space. The reason being is that anyone getting too close too anyone in Commoragh is seen as a threat and liable to have someone shot, stabbed, butchered, gutted, or otherwise put to death in a variety of manners. So it became culturally polite to stay at least an arms length away from someone at all times.

Lelith saw another scourge who had gone all the way in its transcendence haggling at a food stall and she was glad that her mother, if she was indeed the one who made her a scourge, had shown some restraint. For the most part she still seemed to look like a dark eldar, save for her taloned legs below the knee and lustrous wings sprouting from her back. To her, true beauty was a merging of Dark Eldar and avian qualities, not one overpowering or outdoing the other. A beak looked ugly and a covering of feathers hid breasts or covered muscles in the chest that could be flaunted. It made the scourge to truly be a bird more than a superior being and it was just ugly. Though she would never voice that thought aloud or else she would be torn apart by her own Kabal for voicing it. So it was with quiet superiority that Lelith walked past her kin, furling out her wings just a little to show off the purple speckles on her midnight black wings. Much more tasteful than the gaudy array of colours that the other scourge had chosen. "Really, just make up your mind," thought Lelith disapprovingly.

Other than the few tortured screams of slaves were as much a background noise to Commoragh as weapons fire or talking, nothing of real interest happened as they proceeded to entrance of the coliseum. While Lelith could easily fly to the top and view the show from above for free, the wych cults looked down heavily on people viewing their performances without paying and more than one thrifty scourge had had more than unpleasant things happen to it as a result.

Jezane knew where to go for the best seats, no doubt it being because she was a wych herself and led Lelith to a second tier viewing platform where they could watch the fights about to take place. Translucent energy barriers shimmered in front of them at the ledge, intended to protect patrons in the event that a fight broke out on a different tier or if the slaves were allowed to use ranged weapons in their fights with the wyches and in a moment of vindictive vengeance they turned those weapons on the spectators.

There were three dozen different circular fighting arenas spread out across the length of the coliseum and put at different heights for the different viewing galleries. Depending on the night or what you wanted to see, you could witness any combination of species eager to spill the others blood from steroid enhanced orks fighting Tyranid Carnifex's to wyches flaying tau one cut at a time. Jezane seemed to prefer wych fights against really anything, including other wyches. For each round, the participants would be raised in glowing yellow balls of translucent energy and depending on how loudly the crowd cheered for their favourite, determined in what order they would be sent against the wyches.

The arena floor for this night's flights were a simple white sand, which seemed rather boring compared to the lava arena with narrow stone paths raised above it for the combatants to fight on, but Jezane assured her that she would get her money's worth on this stage more than the lava one. The main lights of the coliseum dimmed as the fights were about to begin, leaving everything to be lit by Commoragh's captive suns, but the change in lighting did nothing to affect the patronage's vision or view of the coming fights. The favourites had been chosen and the first to appear on the white shifting sand was a blue tau with a white flash, blinking in the low light and seemingly startled to be where it was, a pulse rifle in its hands. Lelith perked up at that, suddenly more interested in the fight. If they were giving the slaves such good weapons, it meant that they were in for a treat. Or at the very least an interesting fight.

Another bright flash and a wych with a multi-segmented razor whip and elongated curving sword appeared. Posing for the crowd and Lelith found herself cheering alongside everyone else for the young wych. The tau didn't give her long to stand in the spotlight though, before it began blazing away at her with its pulse rifle, blue fiery balls of plasma streaking towards the wych.

With almost arrogant grace, the wych twisted around the balls of fire and jumped over others and some she seemed to stray close to just for the pleasure of those watching. Her multi-segmented razor whip twirling around her like a silk streamer as she moved, long green hair whirling with it in a long, tight braid. Any single one of those shots would have been enough to kill the wych and the low, rapid whine of the pulse rifle was clearly heard amongst those watching the fight. Depending on which fight you watched allowed you to hear what was going on with the most intimate of detail, while excluding the noise of the others. It really added to the experience in Lelith's opinion.

The tau tried to pull out a short blade as the wych closed the distance, but a twirl of the wych's razor whip elegantly decapitated the tau in a single stroke. The crowd cheered, but not as loudly as they normally would have, because they enjoyed a little torment before the kill was made. The next gladiator appeared with a _pop_ and a feral ork appeared with an oversized cleaver and roared in rage as it rushed the wych. It was like watching a clumsy clown try and catch a nimble fairy, for every time it came even remotely close, the wych would dart away, leaving the ork with another cut, either from her razor whip or from her wickedly curved sword.

The crowd cheered loudly and drank in the dark energy caused by the ork's pain and torment, and Lelith closed her eyes as she drank in the dilute energy. She didn't need it with her spirit stone, rare as it was amongst Dark Eldar, but it felt so good to taste it. She shuddered from her talons to the ends of her wings and then opened her eyes to finish watching the fight. As much as Lelith was enjoying the fight, Jezane seemed to be in bliss watching the it, gripping the rail with slender fingers, and subconsciously licking her lips.

The ork finally fell to its knees, dripping dark red blood from a multitude of cuts, many superficial, but entirely painful. The beast barely had enough strength left to lift its head as the wych slit its throat. The crowd roared its approval as the ork died and Lelith heard Jezane let out an almost sultry moan. She really got into these things. With her eyes, Lelith could pick out nearly each individual bead of sweat and blood on both the ork and wych with little difficulty, so if Lelith ever wanted to she could brag about the slaves face twisted in pain and describe it with the most intimate detail. She never did, but could if she wanted to.

With another _pop pop_, two more gladiators appeared at once in a flash of light, a pair of spindly tall red creatures armed with spears crackling with energy. They both made a stab at the green haired wych and the young warrior jumped up on top of the shafts and ran up them towards one of the red creatures. With a twirling flip, she vaulted over and the creature and it made a keening wail as she removed one of its two small eyes, protected by bony ridges. Lelith cheered with everyone else, but stopped abruptly when she felt a hand clamp onto her right buttocks. She stiffened and looked over to see that it was Jezane doing it. Running her hand all over Lelith's posterior like she owned it. Now Lelith was no pure flower, having gone to the halls of pleasure in both high and low Commoragh, but that didn't mean that her friend could cop a feel whenever she got the inclination. With a polite but firm flick of her wing, Lelith removed Jezane's hand and the wych made no comment on it, never taking her eyes off of the fight.

The two red and spindly creatures were bleeding a greenish coloured blood from an elaborate criss-cross of cuts and one was hamstrung down on its knees. The wych moved like a dancer between their clumsy swings, only cutting deep enough to sever an important muscle, or just penetrate an eye enough so that it wept clear fluid and a tiny bit of blood. With a final desperate lung, one of the red spindly creatures tried to skewer the wych, blood streaming down him in rivulets and already getting shaky. The wych spun around his thrust and used the blade at the end of her hair to disembowel the creature and it fell with a moan of pain that released a wave of dark energy.

The coliseum served a twofold purpose in the the eternal city. The first was to provide entertainment and an outlet for the bloodlust that enraptured its residents and the second was to provide an appetizer meal to those who attended, allowing even the oldest of Dark Eldar to attend without fear of having their souls leached away to nothingness. Though as with all things, some enjoyed it more than others.

The wych was nearly finished with the two red gladiators and with a final flourish of her weapons, decapitated them both who by now were looking like they had been on a hunters skinning rack. The crowd roared its approval. Most wyches will only play with an opponent for a short time, but the green-haired wych drew it out to exquisite length.

The different coloured blood of the xenos made interesting patterns in the bright white sand, like a mad artist had flung paint at a canvas and then marvelled at the form that it took. Killing was as much an art as painting on Commoragh and none could do it better or more gracefully than the wych cults. The last fight was rather disappointing though. A quartet of humans who chased the wych around with crude and rusted weapons, not even armed with the best or standard of their pitiful standards. The agile wych made them look like clumsy oafs whom you expected to start hitting each other on their head at any time. She took them apart piece by piece, not even overly exerting herself or being strained by the fight which allowed her to do more extravagant mocking twirls and literally dance around the mon'keigh. The crowd roared and laughed with approval when she actually leaned in and kissed one of the mon'keigh on the cheek. Eventually though she finished the mon'keigh and with a flourish of her blades bowed deeply, and disappeared with a flash.

"She was amazing," said Lelith in awe.

"You should come see me fight sometime, I'll give you a real show then," said Jazene. "She's good for a beginner, but she's no hekatrix. Actually, I think that I was a little better than that when I first started out in the arena."

"Really?"

"Of course, but I'm a lot better now. In, and out of the arena."

"Keep trying Jazene, you just might strike gold. Someday," said Lileth in good humour. "So what's the next fight anyways?"

"Well it might just be between you and me," said Jazene testily.

"Don't be like that Jazene. Tell you what, how about after we finish watching the fights we head back to your place, or mine, and then what happens happens?" Jazene smiled.

"I think that that sounds like a plan," said Jazene. "How about we make this next match interesting?"

"How interesting?" asked Lelith suspiciously.

"If I win, you have to do whatever I want tonight and anything I ask."

"Sounds fun, and if I win?"

"I do whatever your little uncorrupted heart desires, for however long you want tonight."

"What do you mean by anything?"

"Anything." Lelith felt her cheeks flush as illicit thoughts and images danced through her head and Jazene laughed.

"O-okay, deal," said Lelith.

"Such a flustered little birdie," teased Jazene. "By the way," my bets on that the wych wins."

"Dammit," said Lelith sourly. "You're cheating again."

"No I'm not, you're just not making sure that you understand all the rules before you jump in. Too concerned with your shiny trophy to think about the consequences."

"Well the trophy I'm thinking of isn't shiny this time Jazene."

"Really? Do tell. I thought you had a thing going for Brillin."

"Yeah, but he's molting right now so he's all moody. Oh, shh, it's starting," said Lelith excitedly as lights dimmed again and slave workers had changed the sand in the pit by a series of cleaning solution sprayers that dissolved the blood like water on a sidewalk on a hot day.

The glowing spheres of yellow energy were raised again and inside were various creatures and warriors, all showing off, yelling at the crowd, insulting them, or glowering in quiet defiance. All except one though. One particularly large mon'keigh in tatters of a Imperial Guard uniform and had an unkempt beard that mon'keigh were able to grow and merely sat in the bubble of energy, looking hollow eyed and broken. Steel grey orbs lacklustre and dull. Used up and spent. Silver skulls and crossed swords adorned what was left of his lapels. He looked like he had been a leader, his bloodstained remnants of clothes and armour were finely made, for mon'keigh creation anyway, and he had the look of an alpha among the slave races. One whom the lesser ones of his race would gravitate towards. Lelith could not help but feel a pang of sympathy for the mon'keigh, at least the other gladiators were willing and ready to fight for their lives, this one would just be a carving block for the wych facing him. A bold black double headed bird was visible on its arm, a vivid symbol amongst his pallid flesh. He looked as if he had been a resident of Commoragh for all his life. The question being, why would they send a gladiator to the coliseum if it wasn't willing to fight?

So with the final selection made, the balls of energy disappeared and the first to appear this time was the wych. Clad in her wychsuit with a large amount of skin showing without protection, she had ebony black hair that ended near her waist, with a bladed spike on the end. She brandished a pair of short swords to the crowd and whipped her mane of hair around her in a rapid circle. With a flash of light, the killing began. The wych was good, though she didn't draw out the killing as the other had, but she still made it entertaining to watch.

Lelith watched as opponent after opponent was dispatched with ease by the wych and kept wondering when the sad mon'keigh would be the one to fight. As it turned out the mon'keigh was the last to enter the arena. It stood with its shoulders slumped, barely even maintaining the energy necessary to stand. Remnants of a once impressive coat hung in strips around it, a cheap slave sword used for gladiator fights in its hand. It dropped from fingers seemingly lacking the will to hold them up. A frame packed with hard muscle seeming so weak and small before the wych when it had no will to drive it.

The wych rushed forward and struck a superficial cut to the mon'keigh to which it did...nothing. It just stood there, not even grunting in pain. It was almost as if it wanted the wych to kill it, that it wanted to die. Needless to say this displeased the crowd. They booed, especially when no dark energy came forth from the multitude of cuts that the wych made on the mon'keigh. What angered them the most was the lack of reaction from the mon'keigh as years of training were used to inflict pain on it and it didn't seem to care. In anger the wych actually just sauntered up to the mon'keigh and put its blade to its chest and began to push. Even when blood came forth it merely stayed looking back at her. The fight had taken a turn for the worse and now the crowd were quite verbally expressing their outrage and some of the more expressive ones began throwing food or other things over the energy fields towards the arena. Taking the cue, the wych backed up and prepared to finish off the unwilling gladiator.

She rushed forwards and the mon'keigh closed its eyes, waiting for the final blow. Just before the blow struck though, it seemed as if though a change came over the mon'keigh and when its eyes opened, they were full of steely fire and its broad shoulders seemed to once more fill out their frame. With a single stroke, the crowd fell deathly silent and none was more surprised than the wych herself. Because, inbetween the mon'keigh's hands was one of the wych's mono-edged short swords.

The wych quickly brought her other blade down, but the mon'keigh kicked off of her and moved away with inhuman grace, near levels of an eldar and with a flick of its foot, it brought the spear of a fallen gladiator into its grasp and began spinning it quickly in its hand, circling the wych in a slow walk and eyeing her like a predator. The crowd roared its approval.

This is a bit of a preview for a later book in my Krieg series, with a few characters who are going to be in it later on. By preview I mean you guys are going to have to wait through like another two or three books before it gets to this part. Sorry, but I'm a bit of a tease. :)


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